


Some Girls Like Simple

by JasnNCarly



Series: Jon Moxley (Dean Ambrose) & You [46]
Category: Professional Wrestling, WWE, World Wrestling Entertainment
Genre: F/M, One Shot, Tumblr, greygirlmoxley, wwe imagine
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-26
Updated: 2016-06-26
Packaged: 2020-05-19 23:08:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,142
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19365616
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JasnNCarly/pseuds/JasnNCarly
Summary: Parenting is impossible when you're on separate pages.





	Some Girls Like Simple

This morning had been a complete panic, jumping into jeans and t-shirt. While you knew he would never take your daughter, it was alarming when you got not even a ‘fridge note’ about where they were going and why. Then, you remembered his talk with an old buddy yesterday. You remembered that fond tone in his voice about pre-WWE days, and you wanted to puke. Did you hate his indy days? Of course not, but the permanent scars on his body were a reminder of just how crazy those shows could be.

You were going to kill him. You had pieced the whole thing together, and you were going to nail his ass to the wall with your evidence. You wanted to know if he would really deny taking her to the venue - to see things you couldn’t imagine. You pace the hardwood floor of your living room, barefoot in hopes that your skin against the cool surface will calm you; it does not. It only echoes, reminding you how much you want to strangle him once he comes home. One of the few days you all have off, he makes a crazy decision like this. He takes your child, still distant from five-years-old, to an indy show.

You yank your phone off the coffee table and begin to dial his number again; you shut it off, tossing the phone aside, when you hear the front door open and excited whispers follow.

“Remember, don’t say anything to mommy or she’ll be sad that she didn’t get to go with us.”

“Go with you where?” You know exactly where, but you want him to cope to it before you beat the shit out of him.

“Hey!” Dean stands straight, offering you a sneaky grin, and blocks your daughter, “Babe, I didn’t know you were up. It’s still early, isn’t it?”

“It’s actually late afternoon, but thanks for assuming I keep the sleeping schedule of a lazy house cat.” You push past him, immediately kneeling down in front of your daughter; her Mediterranean sea blues wide and sparkling – in a way that makes you nervous. Faint stains of mustard near her mouth and juice soaked into her pout. She was perfectly fine, even as she glanced up at her dad to help find words. You force a smile forward, smoothing the top of the messy ponytail Dean had put in her hair, “I’m glad you had fun with whatever, sweetie. Could you do mommy a favor? Head up to the bathroom, grab a baby wipe, and see if you can get your hands and face real clean.”

“Can daddy help me?”

“Oh no, baby,” You glare up at Dean, making your intentions clear, “Mommy and daddy have something really important to talk about.” You patted her shoulder as you got back up, “Go on.”

“Thank you, daddy!”

She hugs his legs once, tight, and races upstairs to do as told. Once she disappears around the corner, you grab a fistful of his shirt and pull him into the living room.

“I thought you’d be happy. I gave you a day off!”

“I’m only going to ask you once, and GOD so help me if you lie.” Your tone made it clear that he should panic, but he was cool as he removed his jacket and tossed it to the couch, “Where’d you take her?”

“I don’t know. You seem to be tracking my moves so let me know what you think.” Dean’s irritation adds fuel to your fire; as you cross your arms and tighten your jaw, he releases a heavy sigh, “It was a one time deal, (Y/N).”

“What the hell were you thinking!” You keep your voice down to an excited whisper, aware of the nosy child upstairs, “She is a baby, Dean!”

“She’s not a baby. She’s got more sense than half the people I work with.” His sarcasm causes you to shake your head; he sits, taking a moment rub his hands together, “Why don’t you ask me if she had fun? If she laughed or got scared? What about that, huh?”

“Of course she loved it, she was with you!” You unfold your arms, knowing you are being slightly overprotective; you can’t help it though, “She thinks you control the moon and sun.”

“That’s funny ‘cause that’s how I look at her.” Dean waits for you to turn towards him and extends a hand, “Come here.”

You hate the command especially as it leaves his beautiful mouth; he has the power to bring you down in seconds – something you love and hate him for. You do as he commands, placing your hand in his and following his tug. Sitting in his lap, you shut your eyes when he bumps his forehead against yours, the two of you remaining in that space.

“She’s our kid, (Y/N). She’s tough. She’s not glass…she won’t break.”

“I know that. I just…” You can’t tell him about the panic. How your stomach revolts when you think about your own child experiencing any of the past that you or Dean have lived with. You lift your hands up to his face, stroking his cheeks with your thumbs, and push yourself to be honest, “I worry about the things she sees and hears. As fucked up as it sounds, I don’t want her to be like us.”

“I don’t want her to either.” He pulls back just a little, tunneling his stare into yours and stroking your back, “But she didn’t see or hear anything she hasn’t heard here or on the show. I took good care of her, Mama.”

His last word is accompanied with a playful pat of your backside, and you try to hide your smile, “I’m sorry for jumping down your throat, but I started to think about your scars and I—”

“I’m pretty proud of those.”

“I know and, don’t get me wrong, they’re kinda hot on you.” Your confession causes him to wiggle his eyebrows, “But I just want to keep her away from scars a little longer—metaphorically speaking.”

“Say no more, we will not go to another indy show until she’s ten.” You punch his shoulder, relieved when he laughs. Fixated on your uncertainty, he lightly shakes your position, “You trust me, right?”

“…with our lives.” You give in when his lips catch yours, tender and attentive; yet when he tries to deepen the joining, you cease all contact and leave his lap, “I have to go check on her.”

Dean becomes flustered, “What, wait, can’t you punish me or something? She can nap.”

“Nope, you’re going to have a little bit before you get any kind of show of your own.” You wink and saunter out of the room, well aware the conversation was over; but your anger would have an outlet much later.


End file.
